A Fear of Flying
by pirhanavamp
Summary: It only takes a moment, just one small thing to alter the course of your life. Sookie has been nursing a crush on Eric Northman for four years. Mustering up her courage she asks him to sign her yearbook. What he writes, irrevocably changes her future. AH
1. Can You Tell

**A/N:This story has been buzzing around in my head for about two months now. Basically, I was really ill with the flu a few months back and had to spend a week in bed. Let's just say I watched a lot of _Felicity _and _Say Anything. _This story is _SVM_ meets_ Felicity _and pretty much most of the shows on the now defunct WB._  
><em>**

**I think their influences are pretty obvious in this first chapter and I even lifted a few lines, here and there. **

**Please don't sue me J.J. Abrams or Cameron Crowe! **

**Anyway, I hope you like it.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong><em><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own SVM or True Blood nor am I affiliated with HBO in anyway. SVM and True Blood belong to Charlaine Harris, Alan Ball and the good people at HBO. I am only using these characters for the purpose of this story.<strong>_**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 1: Can You Tell<strong>  
><em>

_Dear Gran… You should probably be sitting down for this. First of all, everything was perfectly fine. I mean… you know, on paper, the end of high school was going exactly as it was supposed to…_

It's the penultimate school day of the year and there's an intense vibe permeating the air as my fellow classmates sit restlessly before me, melting in the hot Louisiana sun. They stare at me, waiting, as I stand nervously at the podium, working up the nerve to begin my speech.

I step closer to the microphone and clear my throat.

"Hi… umm…" The microphone makes a loud, screeching feedback noise. I wait until the noise subsides and start again. "Sorry…umm, hi… well… ah… what can I say…" I look out into the crowd and notice the hard, impatient eyes staring back at me. _Right Stackhouse, get a grip, you can do this_, I think to myself.

"The real world… We are about to enter... the real world," I say, looking hopelessly down at my index cards. You see, I have this whole speech prepared where I talk about the future and dole out asinine advice about life. But looking at my words, I don't really feel like saying them out loud. They seem false, contrived. So I do something I've never done before. Like ever. I go off script.

I sigh deeply and shrug my shoulders. "That's what everyone says, anyway. But here's the thing. Most of us… well, most of us have already been in the 'real world'. Some of us longer than others. And I've got to be honest here. When I think about my life and I think about my future I'm… I'm scared," I admit with a shaky smile. I notice a subtle shift in the crowd. Everyone leans forward, just a touch, paying attention for the first time since the graduation ceremony began.

"You see, high school, it's almost over. We've got maybe another…" I pause and look at the watch on my wrist for dramatic effect, "forty-five minutes and then… it's done. Most of us have gone to school together for four years, some of us since elementary school and we've been through a lot. But now that the safety blanket of high school has been taken away, we're all kind of wondering what the hell's going to happen to us?" I notice a few nods in the crowd.

"That's what we're all thinking, right? I mean, we all know what we want, right? We want to be happy, go to college, get a job, fall in love. Maybe bum around Europe or even start a family. But what if… what if none these things happen?" My voice hitches for just a moment.

"So, yeah, when I think about the future… I'm scared. And you know, that's okay. I'm eighteen. I'm not meant to have all the answers. Up until today, my life seemed so mapped out. But I realized something. My life _shouldn't_ be mapped out for me and I don't _want_ it to be. I _want_ to mess up. I _want_ to say and do dumb things. Cause that's what life after high school is about. _Making _those mistakes and knowing that their mine and mine alone…to fix... or not," I shrug, looking out at the crowd with a more confident smile.

"And for the first time, since stepping up to this podium, I actually feel like… like I'm going to be alright." I notice the nodding in the crowd has gotten more enthusiastic. "Better than alright, I feel…" I laugh nervously, "hopeful. I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know where I'm going to be in five years or what I'll be doing, but that's the beauty of it. I don't _have_ to and _neither_ do you," I finish my little speech and suddenly feel nervous again, not really sure how to end it. "Umm, so... yeah, anyway, thanks for listening and, hey, who knows, maybe we'll cross paths one day."

There's silence. Total silence. And for one moment, I think I've completely messed it up. But then, that energy I felt when I stepped up to the podium returns and there's like this wave of sound making its way from the back of the crowd to the front. And before I know what's happening, there's a deafening roar and my classmates jump up and cheer and clap and I smile. My first genuine smile of the day.

I'm quickly ushered off the stage and back into my seat. The principal, Alcee Beck, takes to the podium and the handing out of diplomas begins.

_Gran, it was like, this is it. This is where it ends and where it begins… _

I think back to half an hour before graduation started. I was walking down the hall heading to my locker for the last time. There were packs of kids moving past me, hugging and signing yearbooks. Posing for pictures and exchanging numbers. No one seemed to notice me and I had nothing to say to anyone. Let's just say that I'd pretty much spent the last four years keeping to myself.

I noticed a couple of kids chucking the last remaining items in their lockers into trash bags. I turned to my locker and started entering in my combination. And then suddenly, it was like, I was surrounded by last times. The last time I'd walk up the B staircase. The last time I'd eat lunch on the grass and read under the willow tree in the quad. Or like… the last time I'd use my locker combo. 18, 22, 5. Gone.

I looked in my locker and there were a few books, a non-descript calendar taped to the inside of the door and a bag of Kettle chips. No photos or silly notes or poems. Nothing too personal. Nothing that said anything overtly obvious about the person who'd once inhabited this space.

As I peeled off the calendar from my locker door, I see him. Eric Northman. He's opening his locker, ten rows down. He's too beautiful not to keep looking, and I couldn't stop looking even if I'd wanted to. I didn't want to.

He's the type of guy who's so charming, instantly likable that you wish you knew him, were friends with him. Or dating him.

_Gran, I guess all I'm saying is that even though I never felt like I really fit in… still, there were some things about high school I was going to miss._

I half hid behind my locker door and stared at Eric Northman wistfully.

I'm jolted from my inner musings by a name being read over the loud speaker.

"Eric Alexander Northman," Principal Beck reads out.

Many students cheer and shout his name, jumping up and down, applauding wildly. I watch as Eric walks toward the podium – fist bumps a couple of guys from the football team en route – before shaking Principal Beck's hand and taking his diploma. I can't take my eyes off him. Did I mention how beautiful he is? He turns to the crowd and smiles, winking at someone in the audience.

I notice a movement in the corner of my eye and spy my parents, Corbett and Michelle Stackhouse, sitting in the bleachers with my brother Jason. My mom shifts excitedly in her seat, talking to my dad, while he fiddles with the controls on the video camera. My brother Jason flirts unashamedly with a cute little brunette sitting in front of him.

"Susannah Adele Stackhouse, Class Valedictorian, graduates with Honors."

My parents cheer far, far too loudly when my name is called. My dad films while my mom happily snaps away on the camera. Their reaction to my name being called is embarrassing to say the least. Incredibly, they cheer even louder when I accept my diploma and honors ropes which are placed on top of my valedictorian ribbon. It's not that I don't appreciate my parents' show of support. I do – really. But, you see, it's just that well, apart from my brother, they seem to be the _only_ ones cheering and they're drawing attention to themselves. Irritated parents and students turn to look at my parents. The whole experience is beyond mortifying.

"I present to you, Bon Temps High School's Class of 2006!" Principal Beck announces, once the last student has collected his diploma and sits back down.

Mercifully, the ceremony ends shortly after that and the next thing I know, hundreds of caps sail into the sky as if in slow motion.

_I recently read in an article in the paper that crash victims – people who lose a limb – say that they can still feel the missing arm or leg even after it's gone. I think it's called phantom pain. Well, Gran, sitting there surrounded by all of these happy, smiling faces, I suddenly had this horrible thought. What if high school went away, but the feeling didn't? I mean, I didn't feel joy. Or sorrow. Or anticipation. Everyone around me seemed genuinely happy, excited… I just felt hollowed out._

Everyone is so excited, optimistic about their future.

_In three months I'd be at Harvard, then in four years, Harvard Law School. Gran, you know, it hit me like a ten ton truck. My life was mapped out for me… everything already in place... things were going so well… I should have been happy, elated… but as I sat there… all I could feel was…_

I watch as the caps land on the ground, still feeling disconnected from everyone and everything around me.

_All I could feel was… dread._

I eventually shake myself from my thoughts and make my way over to the bleachers. My parents and Jason run over to me. Dad lifts me up in a big bear hug and my mother hugs and kisses me on both my cheeks. She's crying, or blubbering, more like. Jason crushes me in a hug and slaps me on the back.

"I'm proud of you, Bug!" he says, grinning widely. I may not have any friends, but I'll always have my brother. It was tough when he left for UCLA two years ago, but I totally get his need to leave this one cow town. He's on a football scholarship and doing really well. His coaches are impressed with his performance and if he keeps playing as well as he has been and avoids injury, then he could be playing pro in a year or two. I miss him, but like I said, I totally get it.

"Thanks, Jase," I say quietly.

"We're the proudest parents here," exclaims Dad. "Aren't we, Michelle? Our little Lady Bug, graduating from high school."

"Oh, that's really…" The flash on my mom's camera goes off in my eyes, momentarily blinding me. "Mom! Could you put that away, please," I beg.

"I just look at you, sweetheart, and you're my little girl. Bound for Harvard," Mom says, getting weepy.

"Lady Bug, we're so happy for you," Dad says, pulling me in for another hug. "Now, we know you have things to do, parties and all that. You've earned it – today is your day."

"Yeah, Bug, we got us some celebratin' to do!" says Jason, slinging his arm round my shoulders. "Hoyt, Jessica and I are headin' over to Merlotte's and we're treatin' ya."

"Jase, you don't have to–" I start.

"Nonsense, Bug. It's not every day my favorite sister graduates from high school," Jason said grinning.

"I'm your only sister," I say, smiling back.

"Even more of a reason to celebrate then," Jason says winking.

"Just don't get home too late," Mom warns, "Daddy and I have something for you."

"Oh, you guys… you didn't have to do that."

"I know. But guess what? We did!" Dad says, laughing. "So, we'll leave you guys to it. Jason, don't get your sister too drunk now, you hear."

"Yes, sir," Jason says, mock saluting our dad.

With a final hug from both my parents, they finally leave. Jason turns to me, a mischievous smile on his face.

"Right, Bug. I'm gonna go over there and say hi to Dawn and then I'm gonna go find Hoyt and Jessica. You finish up with whatever it is you need to do and meet us at the car in like ten minutes. How's that sound?"

Jason's face looked so happy and hopeful, that I really didn't have the heart to tell him that the last thing I wanted to do was go to Merlotte's. My brother held no illusions in regards to my social life, or more to the point, the fact that I didn't have one. I think it really bothered him that I didn't have any friends, but he loved me too much to ever say anything.

I just nod and smile weakly. "OK, Jase, I'll meet you at the car in ten."

Jason smiles then wanders off in search of Hoyt and Jessica. I start crossing the lawn toward the parking lot when I spot Eric across the field. He's clearly having an argument with his father. His mother is nowhere to be seen.

I'll let you guys in on a little secret. Four years ago, I was locked in a closet with Eric Northman for seven minutes. As far as my thirteen-year-old-self was concerned, it was absolute heaven. He gave me my first kiss. My only kiss, to date. The following Monday, I saw him walking down the hall with a bunch of his football buddies. When he passed my locker, I turned around and smiled my brightest smile. I said: "Hi, Eric!" but he just walked past me like I didn't even exist.

It was my first lesson in heartbreak.

I watch as Eric's dad stomps off toward the parking lot. Eric runs his hands agitatedly through his blond hair. Did I mention how beautiful he is? He looks in my direction and I quickly look down. I now notice that I'm holding my yearbook. I scan the area. There's no one around. Now is the time. I don't think. I just move.

And I do – across the lawn – to Eric, who spiritlessly watches his dad walk away.

_You know, Gran, it's funny… sometimes it's the smallest decisions that can pretty much change your life…_

I finally reach him.

"Um… excuse me?"

Eric turns to me, clearly still distracted by his intense encounter with his dad.

"Yeah?"

"I'm Susannah Stackhouse–"

"I know," he smiles as he extends his hand. "Eric. Northman."

I tentatively take hold of his hand and shake it. A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm at first contact and I swear I swoon, just a little bit. Something flashes in his ice blue eyes, but it's gone in an instant.

This is the closest we've been since that night four years ago. He's even more beautiful than I remembered. At 6'4", he's impossibly tall beside my 5'5" frame. His shaggy blond hair gleams in the sunlight and flops forward adorably onto his forehead. His mouth twitches into a slight smirk and I'm mesmerized. I stare at his lips. Those soft plump lips that were pressed against mine for seven whole minutes. Does he remember me? Does he remember that kiss? I take an involuntary step closer and am assaulted by his scent – citrus and sandalwood and sweaty boy. Heaven. It smells like heaven to me.

"Hey, great speech by the way," he says, pulling his hand from mine and pulling me out of my thoughts. "I really got where you were coming from."

"Ah… thanks," I say shyly. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I look down at my hands gripping my yearbook. "I'm just glad I didn't sound dumb."

"No way," Eric says, shaking his head. "It was really cool. The way you admitted how scared you were. That was really… cool of you."

I look up to see if he was teasing me and find that he looks serious and a bit contemplative.

"Hey," I say, holding out my yearbook. "I was, um… well, I was hoping that you could maybe… you know. Do it– I mean, sign this. Book." I groan internally at how much of a loser I am.

He smirks. "Oh, yeah, sure – but I don't have mine with me–"

"That's okay, God. Here," I say, pulling a pen out of my purse. It's gold and has my initials engraved on the side. It was a sixteenth birthday gift from Gran. "Here's my pen."

Our eyes lock for what feels like hours. In those few moments, I feel like he's taken a total inventory of my soul. Like he's unearth all of my deep, dark secrets. Then he looks away and opens up the yearbook to find a place to sign – which is basically on any page.

"I just got it… today. I just got the yearbook today. So… I didn't have time to… ask anyone." He finds a page to write on. "Except for Mrs. Robinson-Bellefleur. She's here today, somewhere, which I was totally surprised by, considering she's about nine months pregnant and looks fit to burst…" I ramble on nervously. I can't seem to make myself stop talking.

Eric begins writing and I finally release the breath I was holding. And then just when I'm expecting him to hand it back to me, he sits – right there, on the fifty yard line.

He looks up. "Hey, could you, ah… give me just… you know. One minute?"

I nod dumbly. "Uh… yeah. I'll… sure." I'm not really sure what to make of all this. I circle him awkwardly and watch as other students begin to filter off the field. Most of these people I've 'known' practically my whole life and I'll probably not see any of them ever again. Eventually I start to give myself a headache with all of this pointless pacing, so I make myself stop.

I look down at Eric and he's still writing. Finally, I sit down in front of him. His face is scrunched up in concentration and I can't help but smile. Did I mention how beautiful he is?

Finally, he finishes. He signs his name and hands the book back to me.

"Thanks for asking," he says with a smile.

I laugh a bit at that. "So… well, good luck," I say, wanting to prolong our encounter.

"Thanks. You too." We just stare at one another. A beat passes. And then another. "So… uh, well… I guess I'll see ya," he says.

"Yeah," I say and for a moment I feel the most agonizing pain in my heart. The thought of never seeing him again just about breaks me.

Eric stands up, brushes off his robe and heads off. Sitting there, I quickly open my yearbook. I find his page and read.

This is what Eric Northman wrote to me:

_Dear Susannah,__  
><em>

_So here goes. You may not remember this, but you and I kissed once. We were locked in Franklin Mott's closet for seven minutes. You were shy and cute and when my lips touched yours, you trembled like a new blown rose. I could tell you'd never been kissed before. It both thrilled me and scared me shitless. And then I was a dick to you at school and we never talked again._

_But the thing is. I've like, watched you – for four years. And I always wondered what you were like... what was going on in your mind all the time that you were so quiet, with your head in a book or silently watching everyone from your seat under the willow tree. I should have just asked you, but I never did. _

_So now, four years later, I don't even know you, but I admire you._

_Well, this might make me sound crazy, but I'm okay with that. So take care of yourself._

_Love, Eric__  
><em>

_P.S. I would have said "keep in touch", but unfortunately we never were in touch._

I feel the blood rush to my face. I'm shocked and surprised and paralyzed – and then I look up – he's far off, almost to the other side of the field. I struggle to my feet and trip on my robe a bit.

"Hey!"

At the end zone, Eric stops and turns toward me.

"Where are you going to college?" I shout.

"NYU. What about you?"

_That was it. That was the moment… everything changed in that moment…_

"I'm not really... sure, yet."

He shoots me the most amazing smile, then he waves sweetly before disappearing into the crowd at the other side of the field. I cover my mouth to hold back the joyous scream that's threatening to spill out.

_And, Gran, suddenly I knew. I knew what everyone was feeling…_


	2. Please, Please, Please

**A/N:Thanks for the reviews and alerts and favorites! You guys are wonderful! Wasn't sure how people would take to this story, but I'm glad that all of you who reviewed enjoyed it.**

**I have tried to respond to everyone and hopefully haven't missed anyone out. My hope is to update at least once a week, but I prefer quality over quantity and like to make sure that my story is well edited and proofed before I post it. So it will sometimes take me longer than I'd hoped to update. Also, real life will interrupt occasionally - hectic job and all that!**

**Anyway, I hope you all like it and I would love to hear from more of you.**

**Thanks again for reading and leaving feedback.**

**Enjoy!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong><em><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own SVM or True Blood nor am I affiliated with HBO in anyway. SVM and True Blood belong to Charlaine Harris, Alan Ball and the good people at HBO. I am only using these characters for the purpose of this story. I also don't own Felicity - so please, J.J. Abrams, be kind and don't sue!<strong>_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Chapter 2: Please, Please, Please<em>**

_My dear little Sookie,_

_Today your parents told me that they would name you Susannah and immediately my heart knew you as 'Sookie'. It seems like such a bright name and I am certain that you will be my little ray of sunshine._

_As I am writing these words, my Sookie, you are starting on your journey out of the safe cocoon inside your Mama's tummy towards the big wide world. Mind you, at first, your little world will be a small circle of arms who are longing to hold you tight, and you will be safe, sweetheart, and very, very loved. The big world will come later._

_This is the tough part right now and soon, very soon, your Mama and Daddy will be holding you close and falling in love with the little girl who will make their lives so magical. They have loved you since you were first created. You are their precious daughter._

_I don't know who you will look like, or if you will have blond hair like your Mama and Jason or brown hair like your Daddy and me. I don't know if you are going to climb trees, or play with dolls, or if you are going to sing or dance. I don't know if you'll love cats or dogs. Not yet. But you already fill a big place in my heart made especially for you. And that place will grow, as you do, and as I watch over you. And it doesn't matter who you look like, or what color your hair is. It won't matter if you like country or classical music. You were made specifically for this family and you will be perfect for us, no matter what._

_You are a little girl who is infinitely blessed, infinitely loved and infinitely cherished. You have your Mama and your Daddy, your big brother, Jason and most importantly, you've got me, your Gran. You have so many wonderful people who can't wait to welcome you, hold you, and love you._

_You also have a two Grandpas and a Grandma, who are in Heaven right now, who may well already know you, and who would have so loved to be here to share your life too. So much love, my little Sookie. This family is ready for celebrations and joy. _

_You haven't arrived yet, but I feel like I already know you. I have dreamt about you, my Sookie. You will be brave. Braver than anyone I've ever known or will know. You will be strong and fearless. You will be clever. You'll make me laugh until I have tears running down my face and we'll have so many wonderful adventures together. I have piles of books ready to read to you, and ideas for things we can do and games we can play together one day. _

_Like I said, I've had dreams of who you are and who you will be. You'll be magnificent._

_I'm not very good at waiting, you know. I want to see you so much. You have no idea yet, just how much, little one. But soon...soon now, you will know._

_Be brave, my Sookie. I am waiting on you and I already love you._

_Your Gran_

I step out of the taxi and stand on a bustling Manhattan sidewalk across the street from my new college. I take it all in and I'm…terrified.

Taking a deep breath and grabbing my luggage I start across the street and head toward the entrance of the administration building of New York University.

My dad's words ring through my head: "You're making a horrible mistake."

Fighting down the panic, I force myself to walk through the huge double doors.

_So, Gran, I did it. I was brave. I mean, I think what I did was a brave thing. I still can't believe it sometimes. I've basically given up everything my parents ever planned for me. Everything I expected…all for a boy. A boy I don't even know._

Forty minutes later, I'm walking down the corridor of my floor in my new residence hall. I can hear music and excited chatter drifting from various rooms. I finally reach the end of the corridor and turn to the room on the right-hand side. It's a corner room. I open the door and spy a wooden floor and large windows. The view from the windows isn't great. It's blocked by a fire escape and looks down into an alley with a dumpster at the bottom.

The left side of the room looks totally lived in. I guess my roommate got here before me. Audrey Hepburn and Jean Shrimpton stare down at me from the walls. Pastel colored clothes are strewn on the bed and about ten thousand pairs of shoes litter the floor, but there's no sign of my roommate anywhere.

_I guess what I'm saying is, this all might be a horrible mistake. As my dad would say. But Gran, maybe… maybe it'll save my life or something. Maybe, just once, I'll live a life less ordinary…I don't know…maybe I can finally stop being boring, shy, friendless Susannah Stackhouse…isn't that what college is about? Re-inventing one's self?  
><em>

I walk over to my side of the room and collapse on the bed. What the hell am I doing? I mean, really? Just because a totally hot guy (a guy you've been crushing on for four years) writes the most insightful and thoughtful thing you've ever read, in your yearbook, you don't change all your plans and move to New York. You don't turn down an academic scholarship to Harvard. I mean, seriously, who does that?

"Arrgh!" I screech and bang my head against the mattress of my bed.

"Who the hell are you? And more to the point, why are you banging your head against the mattress when you clearly aren't engaged in anything remotely sexual, deviant, or sexually deviant?" says a sarcastic and very British voice from the doorway.

I shoot up in bed and push my hair from my face. "What?"

"Please don't make me repeat myself. I _hate _having to repeat myself. You aren't retarded, are you? I mean, I know this isn't Columbia, but surely NYU has some standards. Come on–"

"Wait. Who are you?" I interrupt, staring at the elegantly dressed, petite blonde standing in the middle of the room.

She sighs deeply, giving off the air of one who's been very put upon. "Pamela Ravenscroft-Swynford de Beaufort. From London. That's in England in case you were wondering."

"Right," I say, feeling terribly confused.

She's cocks an eyebrow and taps her foot impatiently. When I don't respond, she lets out another huff.

"Sorry…yeah," I say, jumping to my feet. "Um…sorry." I hold out my hand, but she just stares at it suspiciously. I let it fall limply to my side. "I'm Susannah Stackhouse. From Louisiana."

'Of course you are,' she says.

"Right," I say, not really sure how to take that.

"I think I'll call you…_Dolly_. Susannah seems so formal. I knew a girl named Susannah at school and she was a _right _cunt. Pardon my English,' she smirks. "Well, Dolly,' she carries on, 'in the interest of being fair, I think it's only right that you call me Pam. Only my mother calls me Pamela and I hate my mother," Pam finishes matter-of-factly.

I just nod, not really sure how to feel about my new roommate. I've never met anyone like her before. On the one hand, she seems so confident and sophisticated. On the other hand, she scares me to death.

I open my chest of drawers and start to unpack my bags. Pam is busy hanging up what appear to be incredibly expensive designer clothes on her side of the shared closet. She's grumbling and sighing in a bored way.

"Honestly, I don't know how they expect us to live with this closet," she complains. "Seriously, this closet is like a total violation of my basic human rights," she says.

"And which one would that be?" I ask smiling at her.

"Why, my right to shop, of course," she states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I snort. "O-K. And how do you figure that?"

"Well, Jessica Simpson's less endowed sister, it means that I will not be able to exercise my right to shop to the fullest extent of the law, b_ecause_, I'll have nowhere to house my beautiful treasure. Now tell me that's not a crime against humanity."

"You're right, Pam. I think you should take your case to the ICJ. I'm sure the folks in The Hague would find your argument compelling," I say with a straight face.

For a moment Pam just stares at me, then a corner of her mouth twitches slightly. "You know what, Dolly? You're alright. I think you and I are going to get along just fine."

I smile. I feel like I've just passed a test or something.

_So, yeah, my first day in New York and I've already made a friend. And I know what you're going to say, Gran. How can I call Pam a friend when I've just met her? I don't know. I just feel like she is…We don't have anything in common and she is kind of terrifying...but something about her, Gran...I don't know, we just kind of click, you know. Besides, you're the one who's always telling me to take a leap of faith. Well…I'm leaping, Gran…I'm leaping…_

I'm back at the administration building and I'm standing in the photo ID line looking through the endless multi-colored forms in my welcome packet.

The photographer shouts, "Next please!"

I feel the guy behind me give my shoulder a little nudge. "Oh… sorry, thanks," I say, smiling shyly. The guy behind me just rolls his eyes and I move forward to take a seat in the chair in front of the white backdrop.

"Hi, how are you?" I ask the photographer in a cheerful voice, handing him my form. The middle-aged photographer looks bored out of his mind. He snatches the paper from my hand and hands it to his assistant sitting at a desk behind a computer.

"Great," he deadpans. "Just look at the dot, please."

"Is my hair a disaster? Please be honest, because… you know… I'm going to have to live with this photo for like, four years," I say. The photographer just gives me an exasperated look and adjusts the height of his camera.

"God. I mean, who wants to live with an awful photo of themselves for four years?" I ask looking at the students in line. "Right?" I ask, laughing nervously.

"Look, Miley Cyrus," the photographer begins, "I ain't got all day. Just look at the red dot."

"Hey you!" I hear someone say behind me and my heart stops. That voice. I know that voice.

Slowly, I turn around. And there's Eric. He's holding his packet and going through registration himself. I feel my face break into an insane smile.

"Hi!" I say trying to act surprised.

"What…what are you doing here?" Eric asks in disbelief.

"Miss, I need you to look at the dot," the photographer says.

I ignore him and focus on Eric instead. His hair is shorter than it was at graduation, cropped close to his head. Lighter, bleached in parts from the sun. His blue eyes sparkle against the golden hue of his skin. He's wearing a grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark slim fit jeans.

Did I mention how beautiful he is?

I swallow. "Um… I just… ah… this is where I'm… this is… I'm here," I explain trying to sound breezy, but knowing I sound crazy. 'I totally forgot you were going here.' I swat his arm in a sad attempt at playfulness.

"This is so unbelievable!" he says with a grin, shaking his head.

"Miss?" the photographer interrupts impatiently.

I hold up my hand to the photographer. "Just one sec–"

I never finish my sentence. I never finish because just at that moment a very pretty red-head walks up to Eric and puts her arm around him.

She holds her face up. They kiss. With tongues and everything.

It's totally gross.

_I'd never admit this to anyone but you, Gran, but…sometimes, I think…I think Dad was right. Sometimes, I think maybe…maybe…_

"Hey," Eric says in a seductive whisper, looking down at her.

"Hi," she answers back, petting his chest in a possessive way. She finally seems to notice I'm standing there staring at them. She asks Eric, "Who's your friend?"

Eric looks away from her and looks back at me. "Oh, shit sorry. I know this girl from high school," he explains to Red. Red looks at me in a cool, assessing way, calculating. "This is Sophie-Anne," he says to me, indicating Red. "Soph, this is…uh…this is…"

I feel my heart sink down to my feet, broken and bleeding on the linoleum floor of the administration building.

_Gran, I think maybe I made a mistake…_

"Miss? The dot. Right over here, the dot, _please_," the photographer begs.

"Susannah," I say quietly. "It's Susannah."

"Susannah! Yeah, right. Wow! Amazing! So I'll… um… yeah. I guess I'll see you around, right?" Eric says, wrapping his arm around Sophie-Anne and walking off toward another line. I absently wave good-bye as they disappear in the crush of students, laughing and kissing.

Devastated, I sit back down and look toward the camera, my eyes heavy with unshed tears.

"Finally," the photographer says. A bright flash goes off. "Good enough."

I get up from the seat and wait for the photographer to hand me my ID. I look down at the photograph I'll have to carry around with me for years.

A permanent record of the very moment I had my heart broken for the second time by Eric Northman.

I can't help it. I run to the nearest bathroom and promptly burst into tears. I look at myself in the mirror. I look a mess. Rivers of tears drip down my face and splash onto the sink.

How did I get into this mess? How could I have been so stupid? Of course he's with someone else. Of course he's forgotten who I am. It's not the first time.

"Stupid, stupid girl," I chastise myself.

I think about the first time I ever met him. The first time his blue eyes met mine.

A moment, you see. One moment can change everything...

"Susannah!" someone shouted. Interrupting my train of thought, I flinched. I blinked a few times, trying to process what I was looking at – nine pairs of eyes staring at me. It took me half a second to remember where I was and what I was supposed to be doing. I was in Franklin Mott's basement and I was supposed to be playing "Seven Minutes in Heaven".

"Huh?" I asked, stupidly. "I'm not playing."

Someone snickered as I looked down. There was an empty spot in front of me. When did that happen? I had purposefully sat behind someone, making it known to all and sundry that I wasn't playing.

"Wait. What's-her-face should be playing, not me."

"Well, 'what's-her-face' went to get a drink. Since she's not here, you're playing," Franklin explained.

I shot him a glare. I wasn't going to crack. "Well, too bad," I said, "cause I'm not playing."

A few people scoffed and others rolled their eyes.

"C'mon," Franklin said, "my house, my party, my rules."

Everyone stared at me, waiting for me to make my next move.

Damn you, Jason Stackhouse! I cursed my stupid brother and his stupid hormones for dragging me to this party. Normally, I'd never even get an invite to one of Franklin Mott's parties, but Jason was desperate to get into Franklin's sister's pants. Salome Mott was head cheerleader at Bon Temps High School. She'd been leading Jason by the nose for three months now. He'd heard her parents were out of town and that she and her brother were throwing a party. My parents wouldn't let Jason out unless he took me with him. I guess they figured I'd keep him out of trouble or something. For the most part, I'd managed to keep myself to myself, but now...looks like I'm the one in trouble.

"Can't you just spin the bottle again and get him to make out with someone else?" I asked Franklin, looking over at Mickey Henderson. He's slim with narrow shoulders and slicked-back hair. I mean, come on! What kind of fourteen-year-old-kid slicks his hair back? He had long fingernails, too, and a sharp face and his eyes were as cold and hostile as a snake's.

He made my skin crawl.

I'd rather eat Jason's dirty, sweaty yellow toenails than spend one minute, let alone _seven_, locked in a closet with him.

Franklin shook his head and smiled malevolently. "I_ could_, but I won't."

I gulped uneasily, trying to figure out how the hell to get out of there without too much hassle. I was going to _kill_ Jason when I found him!

Then, seemingly from nowhere, a tall, beautiful blond boy plopped down next to Mickey.

"Cool. Thanks for holding my seat, dude. Is it my turn?" he asked grabbing the bottle and spinning it without waiting for permission. When it stopped spinning, it landed on me. Again. I looked up and our eyes locked for the first time.

Suddenly, I remembered his name: Eric. Eric Northman.

He was a transfer student from New Orleans. I'd seen him around school a couple of times and I knew he was on the football team with Jason, but I'd never met him or anything. We didn't have any of the same classes and we didn't share a lunch period. Apart from Holly and Arlene in my AP English class, I didn't really have any friends. I was kind of a loner.

He was beautiful. And in my school, beauty meant popularity and Eric was _definitely_ popular. Too popular to ever give a girl like me a second look.

'Seriously, Frankie,' Mickey whined. 'You're gonna let Northman hijack my turn like that?'

Eric stood quickly and grabbed my hand, pulling me up. For some reason I didn't argue. I guess I was too dazed by what was going on.

And yeah, did I mention how beautiful he was?

I was thirteen, after all, and had never been kissed. Like ever. The thought of my first kiss being with Eric Northman made my heart palpitate almost to the point of heart attack.

He held onto my hand and led me to the closet and opened the door. The closet was actually very roomy. Only a few shirts were on the racks, but there were lots of shoes on the floor. Sadly, it wasn't a walk-in closet, but it was big enough to make out in. Eric indicated that I should go in first. I walked in the closet, careful not to step on any of the shoes and Eric followed me inside. The door closed behind us and the lock clicked into place.

They'd actually locked us inside the closet.

I could hear the crowd outside giggling. They started to yell and scream at us through the door.

"Do it! Do it! Do it!"

It was like forcing two pandas to mate.

"Make out already!" Tara Thornton yelled. She was Franklin's girlfriend. We were best friends up until this summer. Then she'd started dating Franklin and hanging out with the cool kids. She dropped me like a bad habit not too long after.

"We won't tell Felicia!" Dawn Green, resident skank and head mean girl, taunted.

"I will!" said Franklin.

I heard a slight hush. Felicia was one the hottest girls at school. She was only a Freshman, but she was already on the varsity cheerleading squad. Every girl wanted to be her and every guy wanted to bang her. It was the total high school cliché.

Was Eric with Felicia?

"Shut up guys! I want to hear them making out!" Dawn shouted.

"You're gonna make it worse," yelled Tara.

"Will you both just shut the fuck up,' Franklin said impatiently.

"Make out already!" Tommy Mickens, from my AP Bio class yelled.

I smiled nervously. The closet was very hot. I wondered if it had a heat vent or it was just me.

Eric unzipped his hoodie. My eyes widened, and a weird feeling washed over me.

"God,' I said, my voice shaking a little. "We don't have to do this. It's ridiculous."

"Relax," Eric murmured, stepping closer.

I gulped and said, "I…sorry."

"It's OK. Just… breathe. I promise, it'll feel nice," he smirked.

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I shifted my feet debating whether or not to make a run for it.

I looked up at Eric and at that same moment, he leaned down and pressed his lips against mine. At the first touch of his lips the air rushed from my lungs and I felt light-headed. I sighed softly into his mouth and let my body go limp against his, the way I'd seen in movies.

Never in a million years had I ever imagined that a kiss could feel so magical. In that moment, I felt like I was connected to Eric in every way. It was like I was touching his soul or something.

I know what you're thinking, but _seriously_, it's true.

I was a thirteen-year-old-girl. Dreamy and romantic. I'd never been kissed before and this kiss with Eric was more than I could have ever imagined. It was perfect. _He _was perfect.

Eric pulled away briefly and stared at me in wonder. I knew. I knew then that he'd felt it too. That connection. That magic. How could he not?

Without thought or care, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my body against his. The intensity of our kiss increased. He was impossibly tall compared to me, but it didn't seem to present a problem. He wrapped his own arms around my hips, and lifted me up a little. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he pressed my body flat against the closet wall.

Tentatively, I touched my tongue to his lips, licking the bottom one, and coaxed his mouth open. Eric's eyes suddenly widened and he groaned. I felt his tongue move against my own and it was heaven. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to feel, truly feel. It was the most extraordinary thing I'd ever known. I was on fire, my whole body was burning up and I felt a tightening in the pit of my stomach. I could hear my heart thumping loudly in my ears.

"Five minutes left!" Franklin called out.

"Are they kissing?" Tara whispered.

"They've been in there for a while now. I don't think they'd just stand there," I heard Ginger Jones' voice reply back.

"Knowing what a loser Stackhouse is, they're probably just standing there," said Mickey bitterly.

"Yeah, but she's in there with Nortman," Franklin retorted, clearly delighting in Mickey's jealousy.

They said something after that, but I couldn't hear it. My mind was too into the kiss. His kisses were getting harder, and rougher, more demanding.

My eighteen-year-old-self can now look back and appreciate just how skilled a kisser Eric was. No fourteen-year-old-boy should know how to kiss like that.

While Eric kissed me, I felt the sweat on his neck. He wasn't the only one who felt hot. His hands moved down my back, gripping my hips hard. He ground against me and I moaned. I ground my hips against his and his kisses became frantic.

"Three minutes!" yelled Franklin. I heard him sigh exasperatedly. "If you guys aren't making out, might as well come out now."

Eric and I both ignored that. We were full on groping each other in the closet. His hands had quickly moved from my hips to my butt, to my breast, squeezing and rubbing, while I ran my fingers through his hair roughly and down his back. We were both whimpering and moaning, not even caring if anyone outside could hear us.

Our kiss finally began to slow down after a while. As delicious as the sensation of kissing Eric was, I needed to come up for air. I needed to get a grip back on reality. I was boring Susannah Stackhouse, Bon Temps High's resident nerd girl. I didn't make out with hot boys in closets.

When I tried to pull my lips from his from his, Eric pressed his forearm tighter against my waist, and pulled me even closer, kissing me deeper and harder than before. I was lost. Why fight it. I didn't want to let Eric go any more than he wanted to let me go.

"One minute!" Franklin yelled again.

_Oh god, in one minute, this will all be over. Please don't let this be over. Please, God, please…_

Eric finally let his arm around my hips relax. Slowly I slid down his body and leaned back against the wall for support. My eyes closed, my breathing harsh ans erratic. I thought he'd move away from me then, but he just brought his hand up to my cheek and stroked it ever so softly.

Finally he pulled back, and we were standing about a centimeter away from one another. He didn't say anything. He just kept gazing into my eyes.

_Say something,_ I mentally thought. _Please._ I gulped feeling awkward and nervous. _C'mon please say something. _

It looked as though he were going to speak but the yelling of the crowd outside the door interrupted him.

"10…9…8…" they yelled.

Eric leaned in one last time and kissed me. A small kiss, gentle and sweet.

It felt like goodbye.

"5…4…3…2…"

"1!" Franklin opened the door, only to find Eric and me standing in the same spot they'd left us in.

"Dude, seriously? Did you guys just stand there the whole time?" Franklin asked Eric in disbelief. Eric just shrugged.

'I told you,' Mickey said in a gloating tone. 'You owe me five bucks, bitch! Pay up.' He held his hand out to Franklin who grumbled as he pulled out his wallet to pay Mickey.

Eric was the first to leave the closet.

_Look at me. Please look at me_, I begged.

But he didn't.

He never looked at me again.

And now, here I am.

In New York. Alone, confused...heartbroken.

_Gran, I made a mistake...Oh, God, I made a mistake...  
><em>


	3. We Are Young

** A/N: So, so, so, sooooooo sorry for the long absence! My life has been crazy. I am in the middle of wedding planning with less than four months til the big day! Which has left me with little to no time to write. I hope it will not take me too long to churn out the next chapter. But just in case it does - apologies now!  
><strong>

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
><strong>

**Thanks again for reading and leaving feedback. I really do love and appreciate all the support and encouragement!  
><strong>

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong><em><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own SVM or True Blood nor am I affiliated with HBO in anyway. SVM and True Blood belong to Charlaine Harris, Alan Ball and the good people at HBO. I am only using these characters for the purpose of this story. I also don't own Felicity - so please, J.J. Abrams, be kind and don't sue!<strong>_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Chapter Three: We are Young<em>**

"Miss Stackhouse? Hello? Are you with me?"

I raise my head slowly, still feeling dazed after my encounter with Eric. I'm not sure how I got here, but I'm finally aware that a man has been speaking to me for the past ten minutes.

"Huh?" I ask stupidly.

"Am I boring you Miss Stackhouse?"

I stare at him blankly, trying to find my voice. I hesitate for another moment before opening my mouth to speak. I stumble over my words a bit. "Sorry... Mr. Williams, I uh...sorry. I guess I'm just a bit... I'm just a bit overwhelmed by everything," I say, shrugging lamely.

_Gran, I'm sitting in this office, somewhere on campus, and it's like I'm paralyzed. But it's not physical. No, it's... it's totally emotional. I mean, I'm sitting here, in this stuffy, hot office, staring at...at I don't know what. Cause you know, I'm not there. Not really. And there's this guy, a counsellor. He's young and handsome and he's asking me all of these questions about my plans and why I'm at NYU and I don't know what to tell him. Because... I don't know why. I don't know why I'm here anymore._

Mr. Williams stares at me, looking decidedly unimpressed with my response. He's in his early thirties, handsome, with coffee-coloured skin and shoulder length dreads, tied back neatly. His eyes are coolly intelligent, assessing. He doesn't respond – just waits for me to continue.

I take a deep, shaky breath and my voice comes out small and insecure. I hate myself all the more for it.

"I, uh... basically haven't really had time to review all the classes and schedules, but, uh... so I'm a little behind. And I guess... uh, I just need a little more time to catch up. Because there's _a lot_ to consider. Now. That I'm here..." I trail off.

I make a lame attempt to laugh, but I just don't have it in me. Mr. Williams stares at me – long and hard.

"If you keep staring at me like that, I'm going to cry," I say. "No, really." Again, a totally pathetic attempt at humor.

"I received a phone call from your parents."

I close my eyes, trying to hold back my tears. "Oh."

"Look, you're not the first student whose parents weren't one hundred percent about their choice of school. They're concerned."

"They're more than concerned. They're insulted. They think I've ruined my life," I pause and stare defiantly at him. I can feel my anger building. But who I was angriest with – me, my parents, Eric – I couldn't tell you.

"Do you think my coming here was a mistake?" And there it is. The question I've been dying to ask, but thought I was too chicken shit to.

He sighs and a somewhat pitying look fleets across his face.

"Honestly, Susannah, only you can answer that. What I can tell you is, New York, the city and the school, it's tough. I won't lie to you. New York can easily devour you. And from my experience, it takes a certain kind of student, an independently-minded student to flourish in this place. Now your parents... well, they seem to imply that... you might not fit into that category," he shrugs, leaning back into his leather chair.

I look off and stare out of the window. A feeling of defeat washes over me. I sigh.

_Gran, I feel as though I've lost myself. Like the person I always believed myself to be never really existed. More than once I've had to stop myself from picking up the phone and telling Dad that he was right all along. That I don't belong in New York and I never will. I find myself reading my acceptance letter from Harvard and wondering if it's too late to transfer..._

"...they do know me better than anyone," I say.

"Do you have any other interests outside of the law?"

Disheartened, I hand Mr. Williams an old leather portfolio.

"I um... I write. A little. Mainly fiction. Short stories, poems, little observations... that sort of thing. I was in my high school writer's club. It was called Prufrock's. You know, the T.S. Eliot poem. Anyway, my gran, she kind of got me started. She's always encouraged my writing," I say, looking down at my hands. I'm rambling, but I can't seem to stop talking. "My dad... my dad hates it, but Gran... she always said I had talent, a real gift with words," I finish shyly, feeling my cheeks warm up. "That's just some of my stuff... for whatever it's worth."

Mr. Williams flips through the pages in my folio. He looks up and his lips twitch slightly. "I think that's it for right now Miss Stackhouse."

"Right," I say, gathering up my bag and standing awkwardly from my seat. I turn round and head for the door. As I reach for the handle, his voice stops me.

"And Miss Stackhouse," he calls out.

I turn around and face him.

"You're here. You could have taken the road all mapped out, gone to Harvard. But you didn't. You made a choice and that takes guts. It's pretty brave. But hey, that's just my opinion... for whatever it's worth." He leans back in his chair and smiles. "Let's set-up a meeting for early next week. I'll get back to you on this," he says, holding up the folio of my writing samples.

I nod and open the door. "Thanks Mr. Williams." He gives me a final salute and I head out the door.

The rest of the week passes by in a blur. I try and stay busy with official registration stuff. I buy my books and meet with some of my professors. I buy little things for my side of the room: a lamp, a pillow for reading in bed, a shower caddy and flip flops.

I meet people in my dorm. Have conversations. I smile. I hang out with Pam. I laugh. And somehow, I manage not to think too much about Eric, but…

_Night is the hardest part of the day. Late at night, when the excitement of the day has passed, lying in bed, alone, with just my thoughts, the pain... Gran, the pain is overwhelming. The heartache, the self-doubt, the sense of failure – it's all there, just under the surface, waiting to devour me. Gran, it cripples me. _

So the week passes and before I know it, my first official day of classes has arrived. And despite everything, I'm excited. Well, as excited as a girl racked with self-doubt and numerous insecurities can be, I guess. And you know, the more I think about it, it seems silly to spend so much time languishing over some boy I've only ever spoken to three times in my life (but have been totally infatuated with since I was thirteen). It's like Mr. Williams said, I made a choice – perhaps a rather fool-hardy and impetuous choice, but a choice nonetheless. I could have gone to Harvard, but I chose NYU. More to the point, I _chose_ Eric. And yeah, so he didn't choose me back and it sucks... but, for better or worse – this is my choice.

So I finally stop the pity party. I get out of bed, get showered and dressed. I take one last look at myself in the mirror, take a deep breath and head out the door.

I reach the lecture hall a few minutes before class begins. It's pretty colossal. There are about a hundred seats, maybe more. Students are spilling in from entrances on both sides of the room. I look around searching for a seat when I spy Pam waving at me from a seat in a row near the center of the room. I totally forgot she'd decided to take this class too. I smile and make my way over to her. She scoots over one seat and I sit down.

"Thanks," I say, dropping my shoulder bag and pulling out my notebook and pen. I open my notebook and stare down at the empty lines, letting my mind wander, completely zoning out. It's only when Pam nudges me on the shoulder that I realize the lecture hall is pretty packed and that class is about to begin.

Dr. Winston Keeble, is an affable fifty-something English lit professor, sporting possibly the worst toupee in history. Think Donald Trump and then multiply that by three thousand and you'll get the idea.

"...after we get through with him, Alexander Pope will become your favourite diminutive Catholic English hunchback poet in the whole world."

The entire class breaks out in laughter. Pam chuckles loudly and looks over at me but I'm not laughing. I've just spotted Eric. He's sitting two rows ahead. Pam follows my line of sight and looks at me questioningly.

I feel my heart expand and break all over again. Emotions quickly overtake me and I even try to force myself to look away from Eric, but I can't. I need to, but I'm not able. And despite my little pep talk from this morning, the sight of him sitting there, laughing and carefree, flirting with the busty brunette on his right, completely and utterly oblivious to me, absolutely destroys me.

Soon, the tears come hot and heavy and I drop my head and silently sob.

Alarmed by my sudden breakdown, Pam writes something on a piece of paper and passes it to me along with a tissue.

I look at her for a moment then take the note and tissue. There's concern, but also determination in her pale blue eyes. As if she's made some sort of decision.

Slowly, I open the note and read it.

It says, "YOU OK?" with three check-mark options: "YES", "NO" and "I WILL BE".

I manage a small smile as I blot my eyes. I check two boxes, "NO" and "I WILL BE", then I write "THANKS" and pass it back.

I try to stem the tears, but they continue to fall as I watch Eric whisper something to the brunette. She whispers something back and he rewards her with a flirtatious smirk.

Sensing my increasing dejection, Pam passes the note back. I read it, "DOLLY, IS OUR TEACHER'S HAIR... ON BACKWARDS? WTF?"

I burst out laughing – way too loudly. Everyone looks, including Eric. I try to cover up my laugh with a cough, which sets Pam off and she starts cackling hysterically, which makes me laugh even harder. Tears are streaming down my face, but this time for a totally different reason. It's a struggle for us to keep the laughter down, so in the end we give up. We grab our things and run out of the lecture hall, with Dr. Keeble glaring at our retreating forms.

We step out into the fresh New York air – well, as fresh as a swelteringly hot September day in New York can be – and Pam grabs my hand.

"Come on, Dolly. I'm going to take you to the happiest, most magical place on earth..."

Something tells me she's not talking about Disneyland.

Forty minutes later and we're walking through the shoe salon at Bergdorf's. Pam sighs happily as we plonk down on a soft velvet chaise lounge. She's trying on yet another pair of shoes that cost more than my entire wardrobe. I've just finished giving her the CliffsNotes version of my non-existent romance with Eric Northman and how I ended up at NYU.

"Of course you were crying! How could you not. The guy totally blanked you. I mean, what a knobhead! Seriously, who the fuck does he think he is?" Pam says, outraged on my behalf. The sales assistant gasps at Pam's use of the F-word.

I shake my head, unsure. "Pam, I don't know... I..."

"Here's the deal, Dolly," Pam says standing up and walking to the mirror. She's wearing the _Ondine_ from Charlotte Olympia's spring/summer collection. What? So Pam _may_ have left the latest _Vogue _lying on her bed and I _may_ have flipped through it while she was in the shower. So sue me...the shoes are pretty... whatever!

"I know you think this Eric guy is the absolute bollocks and all, but he's just a guy, Dolly," she says. "_Hot_, sure_, _but totally replaceable." She admires herself in the mirror and looks at the shoes from every angle. Finally she turns round and faces me with her hands on her hips. "Look, I'm not trying to be mean or anything, but you've barely been here a week and you've already decided to chuck in the towel. I mean, WWDPD?"

"Huh?"

Pam rolls her eyes and shakes her head impatiently.

"WWDPD," she repeats. "What Would Dolly Parton Do? _Come on_ get with the program. I thought she was like your hero or something."

"Wait? What? I never said Dolly–"

"Look, _Susannah_, do you think Dolly Parton would be sitting in Bergdorf's looking like a sad Minnie Mouse?" Pam asks motioning to my outfit.

I look down at the black jeans and red and white polka dot blouse I'm wearing. Paired with my white and red striped Tom's and the black headband in my hair. She sort of has a point. I do kind of look like Minnie Mouse.

"Oh my God," I say, totally embarrassed, hanging my head in shame. "You're right. I'm a sad Minnie Mouse. I'm totally useless," I half whine, half sob.

"Stop that," she says without any pity. "You've wasted enough time and tears on the fucktard. So come on. WWDPD?" she says looking at me expectantly. I open my mouth to speak, but she cuts me off. "I'll tell you what she'd do. Dolly Parton would hoist up her plastic fun bags, put on her tartiest dress, slap on a ton of make-up and hit the town _Big Business_ style."

"I think that was Bette Midler," I say.

"What?" Pam asks, looking at me as if I've completely lost it.

"Bette Midler? I think it was Bette Midler in _Big Business_, not Dolly Parton."

"Really," Pam asks, surprised. I nod.

"Are you sure? I could have sworn it was Dolly Parton," she mumbles to herself.

"Yeah, definitely Bette Midler. Unless you're referring to Lily Tomlin, but again, not Dolly Parton," I say.

"Really?" I nod again.

"Bette Midler? _Really__?" _she asks again, still disbelieving.

"Yes. Bette Midler," I say exasperated.

"Bette Midler?"

I just stare at her.

Finally catching on to my mood, Pam turns her attention back to the topic. "OK, OK, whatever. The point I'm _trying _to make here is that you're young, free and in New York City. And despite the fact that you're currently dressed like you're auditioning for the _Glee Project_, you're actually pretty hot."

"What? No. Hot? No... no way.." I say shaking my head and blushing furiously. But Pam's having none of it. She grabs me by my arms and forces me onto my feet. She pushes me forward and makes me stand in front of the mirror while she stands behind me.

"God! Has it _really_ come to this," Pam sighs heavily. "OK, we're totally about to have a Rom-Com moment here and I will _kill_ you, Dolly, if you tell anyone we did this... but you need it, and I'm trying to be a good friend, so here goes." Pam's eyes lock with mine in the mirror.

"You're gorgeous. OK, like _seriously_ gorgeous. Even though your clothes are awful and you could do with a better haircut and–"

"Pam!"

"Right. All I'm saying, Dolly, is that you're an attractive girl. You also happen to be smart and oddly funny. And the whole southern belle thing you got going? Total hard-on for guys. I mean seriously, Dolly, have you seen the amount of guys that have come sniffing round since the semester started? They're not all there for me, I'll tell you what."

"You're nuts," I say, but a small part of me really wants to believe her. "I know you're just saying these things to be nice and make me feel better. And I appreciate it... really, I do, but–"

"Hey," Pam interrupts. "I know we've only known each other like a week, but I think you've been around me long enough to know that I don't do nice. I don't lie and I definitely don't do gushy girl moments in Bergdorf's. So if I tell you that you're hot, then you're hot."

I just look at her for a moment in the mirror and the look on her face says it all. She means everything she's just said. I turn suddenly and hug her tightly. She's stiff at first, but slowly, I feel her arms go round my back.

"Thanks," I whisper, before pulling away. "You _are_ a good friend. The _best._"

Pam looks away slightly embarrassed before speaking. "Yeah well….enough…OK," she says, laughing nervously. "So this is what's going to happen. We're going to head back to campus. I'm going to lend you something fabulous to wear and doll you up. There's a party over at some senior's apartment tonight and we're going."

"But Pam, I have class tomorrow," I protest weakly, already feeling the excitement building.

"Class my ass! We're going out, no excuses. You're in New York, Dolly. Live a little."

%%%

_My dearest Sookie. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you. My old bones ain't what they used to be and it takes me a little longer to write out what I want to say to you. You know, honey, when your heart gets broken... you start to see the cracks in everything. When your Grandaddy was taken from me, I hated the world. The love of my life was gone. I was a young woman, barely thirty. I had two small kids to care for. It didn't seem very fair. I was so angry, for a long time. When heartache comes, it's so easy to lose yourself. To let your heart harden. But I say, my beautiful girl, don't you let it... don't you let it..._

"I don't know about this Pam..." I say, staring at myself in the mirror. "I mean, I don't even look like me."

Pam has spent the last four hours primping me and it shows. I'm wearing a little white number that Pam pulled out of her caravan of dreams, formerly known as our closet. The dress is tight across the body, one-shouldered and hits just above my knee. My hair, which I normally wear pulled back in a neat ponytail, has been curled into fat waves and spills loosely down across my bare shoulder. Pam has kept my make-up minimal but dramatic: barely blushed cheeks, nude gloss on my lips and dark eyes for maximum impact.

Pam is standing beside me. She's wearing a tight, red body-con dress and lethal looking gun-metal stilettos. Her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail and her lips are painted blood red. She looks amazing, definitely like someone who knows what they want and aren't afraid to get it.

"Nonsense, Dolly," Pam says. "You definitely look like you...just a... sexier, slinkier version."

"You mean better," I counter.

"No," she says. "_Not_ better. Just different. _Good_ different, _confident _different." She disappears into the closet.

"Well, I don't feel confident," I mumble fidgeting with the hem of my dress.

"That's because..." Pam says stepping out of the closet with a pair of candy apple red peep-toe heels with wide red crystal stems in her hand. They look absolutely beautiful and definitely deadly. "You haven't put these on yet."

"Uh-uh, no way," I say shaking my head vigorously. "I'm not... Pam... I can't wear those!"

"You can and you will. They're Brian Atwood and they are fabulous."

"I don't care how _fabulous _they are. I'll fall on my ass – or worse, break my neck trying to walk two steps in those."

"Dolly, you aren't going to fall. Do you honestly think that I'd even let you touch my clothes or shoes if there was even the remotest possibility that you could ruin them?"

I realize that I'm not going to win this argument, so with a defeated sigh I say, "No."

"Well, OK then." Pam says, smiling brightly. "Look, everything's going to be OK. We'll have fun, dance, hopefully pull a couple of smokin' hot guys. By then end of the night you won't even remember Fuckface."

Pam's trying so hard to pump up my confidence that I can't help but laugh at her.

"You know what? You're right. Fuck... Fuckface!" I shout.

"Fuck him!" Pam answers.

"Tonight's about me… and New York… and being young and… having fun!" I say, more to myself than Pam. "So, I'm going to go out and have fun."

"That's the ticket," Pam says smiling. "Now let's get smashed!"


End file.
